Return of the Thin Man

by Dashiell Hammett

  Nick says: “I’m sure you did,” as they go into Dancer’s apartment.

  Lum Kee is at the telephone saying: “Better you come right away . . . You bet you.” He hangs up, explaining blandly to Nick: “Mr. Caspar. He our lawyer. Sometimes good thing when you have trouble.”

  Nick: “You bet you.”

  Dancer: “Maybe, but I think you’re going to a lot of trouble over nothing. It’s a cinch none of us shot Landis—so what do we need a lawyer for?”

  Nick: “Maybe to help you explain how you know he was shot.”

  Dancer: “Well, whatever way he was killed, it’s still a cinch we didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Nick yawns, says: “A cinch is no defense in the eyes of the law,” and makes himself comfortable on the sofa.

  Dancer smiles ingratiatingly at Nick and says: “I don’t blame you for thinking maybe we’re tied up in this somehow. It’s our own fault for starting off with you on the wrong foot, but—let’s have that drink first and talk things over. We can show you we’re in the clear.” He pushes a button for a waiter.

  Nick, indifferently, lying back and looking at the ceiling: “Don’t worry about me. Talk it over with the police.”

  Dancer catches Polly’s eye and jerks his head a little toward Nick. She nods and moves as if aimlessly over to the sofa. Lum Kee looks from Dancer to Polly, then goes over and sits on a chair not far from the sofa, but behind Nick.

  Dancer calls: “Come in,” as the waiter knocks, and moves over so that he is between Nick and the door. (None of these movements should be definitely threatening, though it should seem to the audience that Nick is being surrounded.)

  Dancer, to Nick: “What’ll you have?”

  Nick: “Scotch.”

  Polly and Lum Kee say: “Same.”

  Dancer: “And a glass of milk.”

  The waiter goes out. Polly sits down on the sofa beside Nick and says: “Do you suppose that David Graham could have killed Robert?”

  Nick blinks in surprise, then says: “I’m no good at supposing. What do you know about David Graham?”

  Dancer is regarding the girl with a puzzled look.

  Polly: Only what Robert told me—that he was in love with his wife.”

  Nick: “Oh.”

  Polly, putting a hand on one of Nick’s as if unconsciously: “Wasn’t he?”

  Nick: “Everybody’s in love with somebody’s wife—I guess.”

  Polly, moving a little closer to him on the sofa: “Are you?”

  Nick, still looking at the ceiling, takes his hand out of Polly’s and puts his arm around her, making himself more comfortable. He says: “Everybody doesn’t admit it.”

  Polly, bending over him a little, smiles and says admiringly: “I bet you could admit a lot—if you wanted to.”

  The waiter comes in with drinks, but halts in the doorway at a signal from Dancer. Nick pats Polly’s shoulder and says lightly: “My dear, for a girl who’s had so much practice giving men the works for Dancer, your technique is remarkably—ah—unpolished.”

  She jerks away from him angrily.

  Nick: “There’s the fellow with the drinks. That’s what we’re waiting for, isn’t it?” None of the others moves.

  Harold begins to apologize again as Nora gets out of the car in front of Selma’s: “I feel like busting myself in the nose for that—”

  Nora: “That’s all right, Harold. Go back for Mr. Charles.”

  Harold stands looking after her, scratching his head and putting three fresh pieces of gum into his mouth, as she goes to the front door.

  The door is opened immediately by one of the detectives who was with Abrams earlier that day. He touches the brim of his hat with one finger; she smiles at him without saying anything and goes down the hall to the open drawing-room door. Aunt Katherine, Abrams, and Dr. Kammer are standing in the drawing room. Dr. Kammer is a powerfully built middle-aged man with very pale skin, thick, short-cut black hair, and large, dark, staring eyes. He speaks very precisely, with a barely noticeable accent, and, though he does not use a cane, one of his legs is stiff at both ankle and knee. His dress is dandified, more European than American, and—except for the dragging of his lame leg when he walks—he has a decidedly military carriage.

  As Nora reaches the door, Abrams is saying gloomily to Dr. Kammer: “Okay, Doc—if you still want to take the responsibility for not letting me talk to her.”

  Kammer: “My dear sir, it is not a case of responsibility. Mrs. Landis has suffered a great shock. It was necessary to give her something to quiet her. Can she talk to you in her sleep? She will not be awake for hours.”

  Abrams: “And then?”

  Kammer: “And then we shall see.”

  Abrams sighs, says: “This is making it pretty tough for me. Well, let me ask you—”

  Nora, coming into the room, interrupts him impatiently: “What are you wasting time here for? Nick’s waiting for you at the Li-Chee. Robert was there tonight and left with a girl who lives in that apartment house Pedro owns. Pedro Dominges, the man who was killed at our place. She’s back there now, and Dancer and the Chinaman, and Nick’s with them waiting for you.”

  Abrams, stolidly: “Good evening, Mrs. Charles—or I guess it’s good morning. Did you see him there? I mean Robert Landis.”

  Nora: “Yes.”

  Abrams: “What happened?”

  Nora: “Nick knows. Go down there. He can tell you everything.”

  Abrams, not very hopefully: “I hope somebody can tell me something. These people!” He looks gloomily at Aunt Katherine and Kammer, and shakes his head, then continues: “Anyhow, I got to ask a couple more questions. Dr. Kammer, do you often have to give Mrs. Landis things to quiet her?” Kammer stares at him. Abrams turns to Nora for sympathy, saying: “You see—that’s the way it’s been going.”

  Nora: “But surely you don’t think Mrs. Landis—” She breaks off, looking from one to the other in amazement.

  Abrams, patiently: “How do I know what to think if nobody’ll tell me anything. Well, Dr. Kammer, let’s put it plain: does she take dope?”

  Aunt Katherine: “Mr. Abraham, you’re insulting.”

  Kammer: “Certainly not.”

  Abrams, paying no attention to Aunt Katherine: “Okay. Check that off. Then is she crazy?”

  Kammer: “My dear sir, why should you think that?”

  Abrams: “Easiest thing in the world. I’ve seen you three times in my life before this, and all three times you were on the witness stand testifying that somebody was nuts.” He begins to count on his fingers. “First it was that guy Walter Dabney that killed a guy in a fight; then it was that Harrigan woman”—he opens his eyes a little wider—“by golly, she shot her husband, too; and then it was—”

  Nora goes up to Abrams as if she were about to smack him, and says angrily: “Too! What right have you to say a thing like that?”

  Dr. Kammer bows to Aunt Katherine and says: “Miss Forrest, in view of this definite accusation of the gentleman’s”—he bows to Abrams—“I think you would be justified in insisting that your attorney be present at any further interviews members of your family may have with the police.”

  Aunt Katherine continues to regard Abrams in stony silence, as she has throughout this scene except for her one speech.

  Abrams groans wearily and says, though not apologetically: “Anybody’s tongue’s liable to slip.” Nobody says anything. He addresses Nora as if he were disappointed in her: “It’s what you’d expect out of them—but you ought to know better.” When she does not reply, he shrugs his shoulders and goes out.

  Nora wheels to face Aunt Katherine and Kammer, asking: “Where’s Selma?”

  Aunt Katherine: “She’s sleeping, my dear,” adding quickly as Nora starts toward the door: “Don�
�t disturb her. Dr. Kammer says she must not be disturbed.”

  Nora looks at them for a moment, then says very deliberately: “I won’t disturb her, but I am going to be with her until she wakes up,” brushes past them, and goes out of the room.

  Aunt Katherine puts a hand on Kammer’s arm and in almost a whisper asks: “Well?”

  Kammer says: “I think there is as yet no reason for alarm.”

  Nora goes into Selma’s bedroom, where a dim night-light is burning, and stands for a moment by the bed, looking down at Selma. When she turns away to take off her coat, one of Selma’s eyes opens cautiously; then she sits up in bed and whispers: “Nora!”

  Nora runs to her, exclaiming: “But they told me you were—”

  Selma: “I know.” She unwads a handkerchief while she speaks, showing Nora two white tablets. “They gave me these to put me to sleep, but I didn’t take them. I wanted to see you. I knew you’d come.” Selma and Nora go into a clinch. Then Selma asks: “Has David come back yet?”

  Nora: “I don’t think so. He’s not here now.”

  Selma: “Will you phone him for me—see if he’s home?”

  Nora: “Of course.” She puts out a hand toward the bedside phone.

  Selma, catching her arm: “No, not here. That’s why I was afraid to phone. The police might be listening in. Go to a drugstore or something. Or—better—go to his apartment—it’s a only a few blocks.”

  Nora, puzzled: “But I don’t understand.”

  Selma: “He took the pistol and told me to come back and not say anything and I want to know if he’s all right.”

  Nora: “The pistol!”

  Selma, explaining rapidly, unconscious of the effect her words have had on Nora: “Yes. I took it and ran out after Robert when he said he was going away—you know, to scare him into not going—and he’d insulted me so terribly. And he turned the corner before I could catch up with him, and then there was a shot, and then when I turned the corner, there he was dead, and after a while David came and took the pistol and told me to come back home and not say anything to anybody. And now I don’t know whether he’s all right or—”

  Nora: “Then you didn’t shoot Robert?”

  Selma, amazed: “Shoot Robert? Nora!”

  Nora puts her arms around Selma, saying: “Of course you didn’t, darling. That was stupid of me.”

  Selma: “And you’ll go find out about David? I was in such a daze or I wouldn’t have let him do it; and I’m so afraid he may have got into trouble.”

  Nora: “I’ll go right away.”

  Selma: “And you’ll hurry back to tell me?”

  Nora: “Yes, but do try to get some sleep.”

  Selma: “I will.”

  They kiss and Nora goes out.

  Nora goes softly downstairs and out of the house without seeing anybody, but as she hurries up the foggy street a man comes out of a dark doorway and follows her.

  Aunt Katherine and Dr. Kammer are sitting in silence, as if waiting for something, when they hear the street door close behind Nora. In unison, they look at each other, then in the direction of Selma’s room. Neither speaks. They rise together, and slowly—he dragging his lame leg, she leaning on her cane—they go to Selma’s room. Selma lies as if sleeping. Kammer feels her pulse, then picks up her handkerchief and finds the tablets. He does not seem surprised. He pours a glass of water and says, not unkindly: “Come, why must you be so childish? Take these now.” Selma, very sheepishly, sits up in bed and takes the tablets and water.

  In David’s apartment, he is distractedly walking up and down. He looks at his watch, goes to the telephone, but puts it down without calling a number. He lights a cigarette, puts it out immediately, goes to the window; then repeats his performance with watch and telephone. He is wiping his face with a handkerchief when the phone rings. He picks it up quickly. Nora, on the other end of the wire, says: “David, this is Nora. I’m downstairs. I want to—”

  David: “Come up! Come up!” He goes to the door and waits impatiently for her.

  As soon as Nora appears, David asks: “Have you come from her?”

  Nora: “Yes. She—”

  David, excitedly: “Where’s Nick? What’ll I do, Nora? It’s my fault. I’m all to blame. If I hadn’t given Robert those bonds, he wouldn’t have been going away, and she wouldn’t have”—his voice breaks and he almost whispers the last words—“shot him.”

  Nora: “But she didn’t, David!”

  David: “What? She told me.”

  Nora: “She told you what?”

  David: “That she took the gun and ran out after him to try to keep him from going away and—”

  Nora: “But she didn’t shoot him. She hadn’t turned the corner when she heard the shot, and when she got there he was already dead. She told me herself, and she was perfectly calm when she told me.”

  David sinks back into a chair, his eyes wide and horrified. He tries to speak twice before the words will come out, and when they do his voice is hoarse with anguish. “I’ve killed her, Nora! I’ve sent her to the gallows! I thought she shot him. I took the gun and threw it in the bay. I’m a fool and I’ve killed her.”

  Nora, frightened, but trying to soothe him: “Perhaps it’s not that bad, David. We’ll see what Nick says. He’ll know how to—”

  David: “But, don’t you see? If I hadn’t thrown the gun away, the fact that it hadn’t been fired—and the police could’ve fired a bullet from it and seen that it didn’t match the one he was killed with—don’t you see?—it would have been absolute proof that she didn’t do it. But now—” He breaks off and grabs one of Nora’s hands, asking: “How is she? Do the police—do they think she—” He seems unable to finish the question.

  Nora: “Selma’s all right. She’s lying down. The police haven’t talked to her yet. Dr. Kammer wouldn’t let them.”

  David, a little sharply: “Kammer! Is he there?” Nora nods. David, frowning: “I wish he’d stay away from her.” He shrugs off his thoughts about Kammer and asks: “Do the police suspect her?”

  Nora: “I’m afraid they suspect everybody.”

  David: “But her especially—do they?”

  Nora, hesitantly: “I’m afraid they do—a little.” Then, more cheerfully: “But they didn’t know about the Li-Chee Club and those people then. We were there tonight and saw Robert, and Nick found out a lot of things about Robert’s running around with a girl who lives in the same house as Pedro Dominges, oh! a lot of things, and I’m sure by this time he knows who killed Robert—so there’s nothing to worry about.”

  David, not sharing her cheerfulness: “I hope so. I’ll kill myself if—”

  Nora, sharply: “Don’t talk like that, David. They’ll find out who killed Robert—Nick’ll find out.”

  David: “Tell me the truth, Nora, does Nick think she, Selma, killed him?”

  Nora: “Oh, he knows she didn’t. He knows—” She breaks off, staring with frightened face past David and pointing at the window. David turns, in time to catch a glimpse of Phil’s face outside the window. He rushes to the window, but has some trouble with the fastening, so that by the time he gets it open, the fire-escape is empty. As he turns back to Nora, she says in a surprised voice: “Why, that was—”

  There is a sharp, triple knock on the door. David goes to the door and opens it. The man who shadowed Nora from Selma’s house is there. He asks: “Mr. Graham?”

  The man takes a badge in a leather case from his left pants pocket and shows it to him briefly, saying: “Police—”

  Nora says: “There was a man on the fire-escape! The brother of that girl at the Li-Chee.”

  The policeman says: “Yeah?” as if not believing her. He goes to the window and looks out for a moment, then turns back and says: “He’s gone.” Then he scowls at Nora and asks:
“What girl at the Li-Chee?”

  Nora says: “Polly Byrnes—the girl Robert Landis went out with just before he was killed.”

  The policeman says: “Say, you know a lot, don’t you, sister? What does all this make you out to be?”

  Nora says, with great dignity: “I’m Mrs. Nick Charles!”

  The policeman says, apologetically: “I didn’t know. I guess then maybe there was somebody on the fire-escape.”

  Nora asks, indignantly: “Well, what are you going to do—stand here and wait for them to come back?”

  The policeman says: “No, I reckon not.” He goes to the phone.

  David takes Nora out of the policeman’s hearing and asks, in a low voice: “Should I tell him about the gun—about Selma?”

  Nora says: “No, don’t tell anybody until we see Nick.”

  Dancer’s apartment—at the Li-Chee. Nick is lying on the sofa, as before. Lum Kee is sitting in the corner, reading a book. In another chair, Polly is sitting, manicuring her fingernails. Dancer is sitting astride a chair, chewing a toothpick, and looking angrily at Nick. Nick is in the middle of an apparently long and pointless anecdote.

  Dancer spits toothpick out on the floor and says, angrily: “Listen, we’re putting up with you, but do we have to put with all this talk?”

  Nick sits up and looks at him in surprise, saying: “But I thought I was entertaining you.”

  A Chinese waiter opens the door and says: “Mr. Caspar here—”

  Caspar comes in. He is a little man, almost a dwarf, sloppily dressed, with bushy hair, and is addicted to Napoleonic poses. He comes into the room bowing and smiling to everyone and saying: “Well, well—what is it?”

  Dancer, grouchily: “Do I know? So a guy comes in and buys a drink. He goes out and somebody kills him. What are we supposed to do, give the customers insurance policies with the drinks?”

  Nick says: “Wouldn’t be a bad idea—with the kind of stuff you’re serving.”

  Caspar advances toward Nick with his hand out, saying: “I didn’t recognize you for a moment, Mr. Charles. You remember me—Floyd Caspar?”

  Nick says: “Oh, yes,” and pats his pockets as if to make sure he hasn’t lost anything.